No Good Deed
by steelfeather1776
Summary: Ember never wanted to be a hero, but she has an unfortunate tendency to help others, despite the cost to herself. One night, she pays a steep price for her selflessness, and her life will never be the same... Matt/OC (I may have to update the rating to M later...)
1. Just an Average Day

I used to be normal. Like you. I had typical dreams and aspirations. The weirdest thing about me was my violet-colored eyes. I was practically boring.

To be honest, I miss that immensely. I never asked to be special, not really. I was perfectly content to be the girl next door in Hell's Kitchen. I wasn't even in New York during "the incident", as people liked to call it. I was on a business trip with my boss in Seattle. I worked as a secretary, and I was good at my job. God knows I'd never met another secretary who was paid as much as I was without actually sleeping with her boss.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't unattractive. I was tall and thin, with pale ivory skin and a mass of wild, blood-red curls. I had some modest curves, too. But my life was quiet, just the way I liked it. I predictably turned down all the office guys who wanted to take me out to dinner, until they stopped asking. My therapist said I had issues letting others into my life because of deep-seated abandonment issues, blah, blah, blah. I had grown up in orphanages and foster homes because no one even knew who my parents were, and she always brought our discussions back to that. She didn't think I had achieved closure or something. I suppose she was at least partly right; after all, I didn't even have any friends.

I spent my free time outside of work having my kind of fun. I had a secret weakness for activities involving adrenaline, like skydiving, or whitewater rafting. I took every kind of martial arts class I could think of, hiked, did yoga, studied archery and marksmanship, and went on tons of rollercoasters. They were my little indulgences.

After the incident, things changed. In all of New York, but particularly in Hell's Kitchen. Everything felt harsher, more dangerous. During the following showdown between Wilson Fisk and the vigilante everyone started calling Daredevil, I was constantly looking over my shoulder, worried for my safety.

I should have realized where the true danger was. That danger lay in my own nature.

I could never walk away from someone in trouble, especially a kid. When I was little, I got in trouble in school all the time for fighting, because I always took on the bullies. I lost almost as often as I won, but it made me tough, and no one at the homes ever gave enough of a shit to bother me about it much.

I was 25 years old when I made a decision that cost me dearly.

It was late, and normally I would have been home already, but my boss, Albert, had given me a lot of extra work that day. I was walking home since I didn't really have money for cab fare when I heard something odd. It sounded like muffled screams, something hard hitting flesh—I wasn't clear on it exactly, but I turned toward the noise and started walking down the alley to my right, like every dumb-blonde character in every clichéd horror movie.

As I moved closer, I made out five silhouettes. Two of them were cowering on the ground, while the other three appeared to be kicking them. Closer still, and I saw that three rough-looking men were kicking two young girls who were gagged and had their hands bound. The girls looked to be about high school age, and the men smelled like a Jack Daniels distillery.

I slipped a hand into my purse and pulled out my small yet powerful Taser. The men had their backs to me, so I took care to tread softly as I approached. I was able to get the first man before they noticed me, holding it to his side until one of his friends clocked me in the side of the head. I stumbled back as the first man dropped heavily to the ground, and his friends advanced on me. I ducked under one punch as a kick caught me in the ribs, winding me. One of the guys pinned me to the wall by my throat, and I broke his hold while I kneed him in the balls as hard as I could. The last guy took that opportunity to bodily ram me into the wall, which caused the last bit of air to leave my lungs. I gasped as two of them started to roughly grab at my clothing.

Before they could do anything more effective, however, a blur of red and black was there. It appeared the individual popularly known as Daredevil had taken an interest in my well-being. No longer pinned to the wall by my attackers, I slid to the ground in a breathless heap, surrounded by sounds of fighting and pain.

I'm not sure how much time passed before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped a little, but then I heard his voice: "Are you alright?" I looked up to see Daredevil above me, extending a hand. I nodded shakily and took it, allowing myself to be pulled gently to my feet.

"Can you untie these girls and help them make a run for it?" he asked. "I… have to go take care of something else." I nodded again, and he was gone.

It took me about five minutes to peel the duct tape off the girls' wrists and mouths and get them to run to the nearest police station, but I managed it. Rather satisfied with myself, I turned to go, when a meaty hand clamped around my mouth and dragged me back against a broad chest. I suspected it was the guy I had had Tased into unconsciousness, and I started to struggle until I felt something sharp against my throat.

"You self-righteous bitch," he sneered. "Those street rats were worth $1,500 apiece. I'm gonna take it out of your hide!" Something hard hit the back of my head, and everything went black.


	2. Why am I Tied Up?

I don't remember very much of what happened next. I can tell you it involved a lot of pain, and seemed to go on forever. They worked me over pretty thoroughly, repeatedly beating me to the point of unconsciousness. I was tied to some kind of metal pole and couldn't lift a hand to defend myself as they first kicked and punched me, then graduated to knives and even fire. I'll spare you most of the details.

I was gagged so no one could hear me screaming, but they didn't blindfold me, which was ominous. It meant I could see all of their faces as they tortured me.

The only thing they didn't do was rape me, and I thanked God for small favors. I didn't think I could stand that final humiliation.

After hours—or days, I couldn't tell for sure—they started to ask me a single question: "Who is he?"

One of them roughly yanked the gag out of my mouth. My head lolled forward, and he yanked my chin up. "Tell us who he is!"

I chuckled humorlessly. "Go… fuck yourself… with a cactus." I felt a knife splitting the skin of my thigh, and I started to scream before the gag was shoved back in my mouth, soaked through with my saliva and blood.

I heard one of them say, "Have it your way," before my head was tilted up. I saw an eyedropper filled with some purplish-red liquid, and I tried to struggle, but I was tied too tightly. He emptied it into my right eye, and I started screaming in earnest, loudly enough that the gag couldn't block it all out. He refilled the dropper and squirted it into my left eye, which was instantly filled with searing pain. My eyes were on fire, and it was the worst pain I could imagine, a thousand times worse than anything else they had done to me. I couldn't stop screaming.

Through blurred eyes, I saw that damned vigilante again. He was fighting my tormentors, dropping them like flies. I heard a lot of cursing, some gunfire, and the sounds of metal clanging. My nose was filled with strange chemical smells, and the pain in my head and body was overwhelming.

I think I blacked out for a couple of minutes, because the next thing I knew, I was in someone's arms and untied. I looked up and saw Daredevil's face. Well, half of it, anyway. He looked down at me at the same time.

"Try not to move," he cautioned.

Blackness was creeping across my vision, obscuring everything. "Dark," I murmured. "Everything… dark."

His concerned expression was the last thing I ever saw.

For what felt like a very long time, I drifted, never full regaining consciousness. I heard snatches of conversation, with three different voices: the vigilante, a woman, and another man.

"What happened to her?" The female voice this time.

Daredevil replied to her. "They thought she knew who I was…"

"Oh, God. Help me with this bandage…"

I dreamed that I fought them, struggling and screaming. The pain felt surprisingly real.

"She'll hurt herself! Hold her down."

I heard Daredevil grunting.

"You need to restrain her, or she honestly might end up killing herself…"

Another conversation floated through my head: Daredevil and the other man.

"What are you gonna do? She'll need help."

"Then I'll help her, just like I was helped… you should head back to the office. Karen might worry."

I eventually started to come back to myself. I could feel silk on my battered skin, along with a copious amount of pain. Then I realized that my wrists were tied separately to some kind of wooden headboard, and there was a ball gag in my mouth. _What the fuck?! _

What really freaked me out, though, was the complete darkness around me. I had grown up in the city, and no matter what happened, there was always _some _light. This was different. I couldn't see a single thing, not one pinprick of light. My pulse sped up, and I pulled at my restraints.

"Mmf!" The ropes around my wrists were very secure, which only made me yank harder. The pain turned my breathing ragged, and I started screaming desperately behind the gag, terrified. Suddenly I heard steps toward me, then the bed dipped as someone sat on it. I swiveled my head from side to side, eyes wide, but I still couldn't see anything.

"Shh, you're going to be okay," he murmured. It was the vigilante, but that did nothing to reassure me. I struggled harder, ignoring the agony that gripped my entire body. Immediately he moved above me, trying to hold me still. I tried to kick out at him, but he easily pinned my lower body, though he didn't put much weight directly on me. The pain still took my breath away.

"If you promise not to scream, I'll take the gag out," he whispered in my ear. I hesitated, then gave a quick nod. He reached behind my head and undid the straps, then lifted the gag out of my mouth and set it aside somewhere. I let an unsteady breath shudder out, and fought to relax.

I felt his hand on the side of my face, and I flinched away instinctively. He drew back a bit. When he spoke, it was barely above a broken whisper.

"I'm so sorry," he said, and a fresh wave of horror swept through me, leaving me cold.

"Don't be sorry," I snapped, a panicky edge to my voice. _"Tell me why I can't see anything!"_

"What's your name?" he asked. I chose to ignore the undertone of pity in his voice.

"Ember," I bit out impatiently. "Now spit it out, you bastard, or so help me…"

"Ember," he said, "You can't see anything because you're blind. The men who tortured you also blinded you."


	3. Hello, Consequences

"No," I breathed. "No, no, no…" I realized I was shaking my head back and forth.

He reached up and started to untie my hands, but all I could feel was the pain. Not physical this time, but emotional. There was a deep well of grief inside me, and I felt myself begin to sink. I could feel tears sliding down the sides of my face, over my temples and into my hair.

Daredevil finished untying me and tried to pull me closer, but something inside me snapped. I shoved him backwards, hard, and heard a thump as he tumbled to the floor. I shot upright, groaning as my body throbbed in some places and felt stabbing pain in others. Nevertheless, I struggled out of the bed, holding my hands out in front of me uncertainly as I stood. I took a couple of painful steps, bumped into a wall, and turned the other way, determined to get out.

I heard him behind me and turned around, lashing out sightlessly. He must have seen it coming, but he didn't move out of the way, and my hands clawed down what I could only assume was his face. I broke the skin, because I could feel a warm liquid begin to flow under my nails. He caught my wrists gently.

"Please, calm down," he said. "I want to help you."

"Fuck you," I hissed. "This happened to me because of you!"

I felt his shoulders slump. "You're right. But I am possibly the _only _person who can help you now."

"You know _nothing _about me."

"Maybe not. I do know a thing or two about being blind, though."

I jerked away from him, almost losing my balance in the process, and propped myself up against the nearest wall. "I'm not… I'm _not…_" I trailed off, unable to say the word out loud.

"Blind?"

"SHUT UP!" I screamed at him, needing to vent even a piece of the overwhelming rage inside me. The effort made my lungs and ribs burn fiercely, and I sagged against the wall.

His voice was quiet but firm when he spoke again. "I know you're hurting, but I need you to calm down, Ember. I know what you're going through right now."

"Sure."

"I've been blind since I was nine years old. I _do _know what it's like. And I want to help you… adjust."

"Adjust. Like moving into a new apartment and deciding where to put my things. That simple." Acid practically dripped from each word.

"No. It isn't that simple, but it isn't impossible either. I know I need to earn your trust. Just give me a chance, okay?"

I sighed. "I need a shower and something to eat. Do you have those things?"

"Yeah, I'll show you where the shower is," he replied, sounding a little brighter. "Do you like Thai food?"

I half-smirked, allowing him to take my elbow and guide me towards hot water. "I love it, actually. I just have a hard time finding a really good place."

"There's a place on the corner. Once I get you in the shower, I'll call and order dinner."

He led me to a tiled wall and left me there for a minute. I heard water turn on in front of me, and a fan roared to life, then he stepped in front of me again, barely a breath away.

"Hand me your clothes and I'll set them somewhere dry," he said in a low tone. I sucked in a shaky breath, in physical pain and all too aware of his presence.

"Actually, could you just throw them away? They must be covered in blood…"

"Sure. I'll let you borrow one of my shirts until we get you some clothes."

I peeled the shreds of my blouse off and put them in his hand, then did the same thing with my ripped dress slacks and undergarments. He took me gently by the elbow again and led me underneath the hot spray, making sure I didn't trip over the threshold of the shower. Once I was in the water, I sighed and let my shoulders relax, lulled by the heat.

"I'll be in the next room, okay?" he sounded reserved suddenly. "If you need anything, yell and I'll hear you."

I think I nodded. For a very long time, I simply stood under the low-pressure jets, letting the water soak into my abused muscles and skin. In some places, it stung, but I welcomed it. It meant I was alive. Eventually, I felt around and found a bottle of some shower product which felt like body wash, and carefully washed myself with it. After I was finished, I cautiously stepped out of the shower and felt around the walls until I felt a warm, dry towel, then dried myself off and wrapped it around my body.

"Hello?" I called, feeling silly. "Are you still here?"

"My name is Matt," he replied from a few feet away, then handed me what felt like a roomy button-down shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. It took me a few minutes, but I managed to get them on. He didn't offer to help me, thankfully. I think he knew I needed to do a few things for myself.

I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, then followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair for me. I sat down gingerly and let the scents of different Thai dishes wash over me. Matt handed me utensils and a plate, describing the food for me. As I ate, a sort of numbness stole over me, creating some distance between myself and my new condition.

"…Ember? Did you hear me?"

I jumped a little, cursing when a cut on my thigh started to sting. "No, I didn't catch any of that."

He pulled his chair around in front of me and put his hands on my thigh, examining the cut. "I said, is there anything you want to ask me?"

"You mean like how you can be some kind of blind ninja?"

"Something like that."

"Well, then, how does it work?"

"Are you prepared for a bit of a story?"

I tore my focus away from his hands on my leg. "I think I have some time to kill."

"Well, when I was nine years old, there was an accident…"


	4. The Stages of Grief

"Wow," I commented when he was finished talking. "You sure got lucky, didn't you?"

I could practically hear him wince at the bitterness in my voice. "Yeah, I was lucky."

Somewhere in front of me and off to my right, I heard a muffled knock. Matt pushed his chair back and got up, walking toward the sound. As he answered the door, I heard him conversing quietly with a slightly familiar male voice, though I couldn't make out the words. Then two set of footsteps started moving back toward me, and I stood up quickly, suddenly uneasy. I moved behind my chair and then stepped backwards until something bumped into the back of my thighs. I put a hand on it, discovering that it seemed to be a couch.

"Ember? This is my friend, Foggy Nelson." Matt's voice came in front of me.

"Foggy?" I asked. "You must be Matt Murdock then."

Foggy piped up. "Yeah, he is. How'd you know?"

"Let's just say your law firm has made a couple of waves. I even heard a rumor that you worked with that guy in the mask to take down Fisk…"

"He knows what I do after hours," Matt sighed.

"Oh. Well, has he told you it's a shitty idea?"

"Yeah, I did," Foggy said. "But he's convinced me since then that he knows what he's doing."

I shook my head and ran my hand over my eyes, remembering too late that it was an unnecessary gesture. "You're both insane…"

"We'll get you to drink the Kool-Aid yet," Foggy insisted, with a voice full of good humor.

"Sure, when there's ice skating in hell."

A tense, awkward silence descended. I felt my way around to the front of the couch and sat on it, suddenly exhausted. I could feel various stab, burn, and slash wounds all over my body, and they were not pleasant, to say the least.

I turned back towards Matt and Foggy. "Look, I'm tired. If you're going to keep me prisoner here, can you at least be quiet so I can just sleep?"

"You're not a prisoner," Matt stated.

"Could've fooled me. I woke up an hour ago, tied up and gagged in your bed, and blind. Forgive me if I don't jump straight to trusting you."

"I told you the gag was too much," Foggy cut in. "I don't even know why you have that thing…"

"Boundaries, Foggy. What I do in my private life…"

"Oh, God," I groaned. "In no way do I want to hear this. Please shut up and let me sleep."

"As long as you realize that I am not keeping you prisoner," Matt insisted. "You're here because I'm trying to help you, okay?"

"You're not worried I might tell everyone who you are?"

A loaded silence greeted this.

Finally, I caved. "I'm not going to tell anyone. Sheesh. It's not like anybody would believe me anyway. I'm not an exactly an eyewitness." I started to chuckle, but my laugh quickly descended into something pained, desperate, and slightly hysterical. I felt tears pressing at the backs of my eyes, and I buried my face in my hands, unable to hold it all in anymore.

I heard footsteps, and suddenly there were warm arms around me. Matt's arms. "Shh," he breathed. "I will help you get through this."

Distantly, I registered Foggy quietly leaving the apartment. I let myself go limp in Matt's arms as silent tears poured down my face. I shook uncontrollably, but no sound escaped me. I couldn't find words for what I was feeling. Despair and loss came close to describing it. Matt didn't say anything either, he just held me and stroked my back rhythmically.

When I came back to myself a while later, Matt was sitting back on the couch with me cradled in his arms like a small child, curled up in his lap. I closed my eyes, exhausted in every possible way.

He stood up with me in his arms, and I gasped slightly at the sudden change. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he strode purposefully in the direction of the bedroom, then gently laid me on the silk sheets I had woken up on earlier. I felt the bed dip as he laid down on it as well, almost absently stroking my head.

"Sleep," he ordered. "I'll be right here next to you."

I was already half asleep; I think I sighed in response to his words before drifting completely away.


	5. Senses

It was odd, waking up without light greeting me. I had a moment of disorientation before I remembered where I was, and what had happened. I reached out, wondering where Matt was, but I was alone in the bed.

I realized I had no idea what time it was, or even how many days it had been since I had lost my sight. I supposed my boss, Albert Feinman, was probably worried and angry. I sighed. I most likely no longer had a job.

With a bit of effort and pain, I sat upright. Some of my injuries were already fading, but I suspected several of my ribs had been cracked or bruised. It still hurt to breathe deeply. I stood and lifted Matt's shirt a bit, gently feeling for damage.

I had several slashes intersecting across my abdomen, ranging from shallow and partially scabbed, to a couple that went down to the bone on my ribs. The deeper wounds had been bandaged. I felt around to my back, where I found a similar situation. My arms hadn't been touched as much, but they still had a couple of cuts and superficial burn marks. Fortunately, none of the burns on my body were more than second-degree in severity, so I suspected I would retain very few of those scars. My thighs had been pretty heavily cut up, and were almost completely covered in bandages. My face hadn't been cut, but it was bruised and somewhat puffy from what I could feel. I had been punched in the face more than a few times during the torture.

I couldn't hear Matt anywhere in the small apartment, so I decided to explore and get used to the place. I slowly made my way around the space, using grid patterns to cover all the ground. I felt everything carefully with my hands, trying to memorize where everything was. It was rather sparse, truth be told. Apparently Matt didn't care much about decorating. I guess I couldn't blame him.

I got hungry after a couple hours, so I went back to the fridge I had found earlier and opened it. The only things I found inside were beer and disappointment, however. There was a box inside one of the cupboards which turned out to be crackers, so I ate a few of those in desperation.

I had just sat down in one of the chairs next to the table when I heard two quiet knocks. I froze for a moment, then stealthily made my way down the hall to the door and listened.

"Matt? Matt, it's Karen. I… I need to tell you something." The female voice sounded shaky, and a little bit sad. "Please, Matt… I have to tell somebody."

She sounded like she was about to cry, and my damned instincts kicked in before I could think about it. I opened the door.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Um, is Matt here…?" Now she sounded embarrassed.

"He should be back soon," I answered. "Why don't you come in?"

"Are you sure?"

I moved aside and ushered her in with a nod. She moved past me and sat on the couch, clearly fidgeting from what I could hear.

"How do you know Matt?" she asked. I wasn't sure if she sounded a bit jealous, or just curious.

"I'm just an old school friend," I replied blandly. "I recently became blind, and Matt has been helping me adjust to it."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be, Karen. It's not your fault." I cocked my head. "But something has you upset, doesn't it?"

"It's nothing important." She stood up, and I moved a step closer to her voice.

"Somehow, I don't think that's true. You shouldn't hold everything in. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you should at least tell Foggy or Matt what happened…"

"I never said anything happened," she said, sounding nervous.

"Did you know, I live in an apartment just down from you?"

Her breathing sounded unsteady.

"My neighbor told me she saw a man wearing glasses and a suit abducting you a few weeks ago. Then I heard a street rumor that someone matching that description was found dead in an abandoned building with several holes in him, while you returned to your apartment and apparently drank… a lot. My neighbor told me she could practically smell it seeping through the walls."

I heard her sit back down heavily.

"If you had to do something in order to survive, something you regret, then you should know that your friends would still be there for you if you told them the truth. I would recommend it, actually. Otherwise, you're going to have trouble moving past this."

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Tell them what, Karen? Rumors and hearsay? I'm not out to get you. I just want to help, if I can."

She sighed audibly and stood up. "I'll think about it…"

"I'll tell Matt you stopped by," I said, following her to the door.

As she left, I started to notice an odd thumping sound, which got a little quieter after she had shut the door between us. _Her heartbeat? _Next there was a mechanical humming sound that was getting progressively louder, a harsh buzzing, water flowing…

Suddenly, everything was far too loud. The sounds were hurting my ears. I could smell everything, and it was too strong. I just managed not to throw up from the immediate nausea. The flooring felt too rough on the bottom of my feet, and my clothing chafed.

The onslaught to my senses was too much; I couldn't focus on a single sensation and it was driving me insane. I could literally taste the air, feel the flow of it around every object in the apartment. I staggered to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped in, still wearing Matt's shirt and boxers. The running water barely muffled everything. Unable to think of anything else, I sank down to the floor of the shower, burying my face behind my knees, and breathed as evenly as I could. _In, out, in, out…_

Every sensation battered down on me, stronger than anything I had ever experienced. I couldn't form a coherent thought.

I heard Matt open the shower door, and the thundering of his heart threatened to drive me over the edge. I put my hands over my ears, but it didn't help. As he came closer, I tried to scurry away.

"It's too loud," I whispered, but I might as well have screamed.

"What's too loud?"

"Your heart. It's too loud…" I groaned, feeling as if my ears were bleeding.

I felt his hands on the sides of my head, gently prying my hands away. "Ember, focus. I want you to listen to one thing. Listen to my heart. Ignore the rest of it. Memorize my heartbeat, okay?"

I nodded shakily, and focused on just that sound. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump… _Whenever the outside sounds tried to get my attention, I furiously ignored them, determined not to give in.

After what felt like an eternity, I could barely hear the other sounds above Matt's heartbeat, strong and steady and loud. I breathed in, smelling the faint scent of his cologne, something masculine and well-balanced, and his skin, clean and warm. I felt some kind of linen under my fingertips, and realized that I had put my hands on his forearms. I heard him breathe deeply and swallow, and I felt a miniscule temperature spike in the air between us. He shifted towards me by a fraction of an inch, and I felt something in my belly clench.

I leaned forward and pressed my partially open lips to his.


	6. My Own Path

He tasted like mint and salt and old blood. I flicked my tongue along his lower lip and pressed closer, wanting to do anything but think. His arms tensed under me an instant before he took control of the kiss, crowding me against the shower wall.

He gathered my wrists firmly in one hand, anchoring the other hand in my hair and pulling my head back and up. His tongue invaded my mouth greedily, skillfully, as one knee wedged in between my legs, spreading them. I responded in kind, arching my back towards him and pressing my chest to his, nipping his lower lip.

For a moment, we were all sensation, teeth and tongues and wet clothes and skin. I forgot everything beyond how to feel and taste and smell and hear.

When he pulled back, it was sudden, and it left me cold and confused. The hot water had run out a long time ago. I was freezing, and far too aware of his ragged breathing.

"I'm s-s-sorry," I said, teeth chattering. "I don't kn-know what I was th-thinking."

"Are you alright?" he asked, polite and composed once again, turning off the water and handing me a towel. Heat flooded my face as I attempted to squeegee water out of my dripping clothes.

"I think I'm fine now," I responded truthfully enough. Something had indeed clicked in my brain, and I could control my senses enough that it wasn't overwhelming. It was still a bit unnerving that I could hear a woman in the apartment across the hall breathing, or a cat yowling two blocks away, but I figured I could learn to live with it.

Matt reached out toward me with cotton and denim in his hands, and I automatically took what he was holding, which turned out to be a t-shirt, jeans, and undergarments. The latter were a little bit lacier than I had expected, though still plainer than most lingerie. I gave a vague nod and turned my back to him before peeling his sopping shirt over my head and rolling the boxers down my legs, using one foot to flick them away. I felt him move into the next room, his heartbeat staying too steady for my liking.

After that, I quickly dried off and got dressed, then padded barefoot into the kitchen, where Matt was unpacking boxes of Chinese takeout. I could feel every grain in the floor underneath my feet.

We ate in silence, and I focused on the taste of the food. It was incredibly strong, so I found myself gravitating more towards plain white rice and fortune cookies instead of the more flavorful dishes I normally preferred, like egg rolls and General Tso's chicken and lo mein noodles. I tried very hard not to think about Matt's rejection, but it still stung. I had assumed he would find me attractive, and my vanity didn't enjoy being proved wrong.

As I finished gingerly ingesting my dinner, I noticed Matt was becoming less comfortable, judging by the fact that he kept fidgeting. I made a quick decision.

"I think I'll move back into my apartment now that I'm learning to get around on my own," I said, out loud as it turned out.

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Matt asked. The doubt in his voice irritated me suddenly.

"I'm not a damn invalid," I growled. "I can figure it out. And you have more important things to worry about than coaching me through some therapy routine."

The air between us cooled noticeably. "If that's what you want, I won't hold you here."

"I appreciate that," I replied, sarcasm tinging my words. I didn't like the implication that he _could _keep me at the apartment against my will, but I let it slide. "What time is it, by the way? I've lost track completely."

"It's nine forty-five p.m., and it's been four days since we met," he responded.

"Four days," I mused. "Seems a lot longer."

When he didn't say anything, I continued. "You're better off without me anyway. Anyone could tell you have your plate full."

I wasn't sure why I was still trying to convince him. God knows I shouldn't have felt upset at the thought of leaving.

My apartment felt strange, familiar yet different. The mix of carpet and hardwood flooring comforted my feet, and it smelled like my detergent and perfume and just _me, _but I had never been able to hear and feel the air moving over and around every object before, every countertop and seat. I tasted a bit of dust from the short period of neglect to the place. I heard the hum of my fridge, and I could smell the food inside; a few items were going bad. I was grateful that I had taken my garbage out the morning before I lost my sight, because I could only imagine how strong the smell would have been.

A picture began to form in my head. Matt had described his strange 'vision' as a fiery, impressionistic picture, and mine certainly looked a bit abstract, but I didn't see fire. I saw layers of varying blackness, with objects outlined vaguely in a sort of dark neon purple. I suspected it wasn't any kind of sight, but rather my brain's way of interpreting my freshly heightened senses. For one thing, my remaining senses encompassed 360 degrees around me, whereas my sight only would have shown me a narrow focus in front of me and somewhat out to the sides of my head.

My head hurt trying to make sense of it all, so I decided to take the edge off. I made my way to my corner cabinet, where I kept a bottle of cheap vodka, and swigged from the bottle. As it turned out, my sensitive taste buds could tell that it was inferior vodka, and they did not thank me for it. I had to struggle through the next few gulps before my brain started to feel a bit fuzzy, but I managed, and found that I no longer registered the flavor of the alcohol, only that I felt happier and less stressed.

Half an hour later, I was suddenly the best hip-hop dancer ever, cutting loose in my living room while I listened to trap music. The bottle lay discarded on the side table, half-empty. Occasionally I picked it up and took another mouthful. It almost felt like some kind of rave-style trip, with my strange senses coming sharply in and out of focus.

I don't know how long I danced; it felt like hours. I remember finding my personal smartphone (I had lost my company cell during the events of a few nights before), and enabling its voice controls. I felt much better once I could tell what time it was. At some point, I must have stumbled into my bed and passed out.

When I woke up, my sheets felt like splinters rubbing my skin, and bass-heavy music was still thumping loudly throughout the apartment. I was uncomfortably sober. My senses assaulted me once more, along with an agonizing headache. The hangover, coupled with my healing injuries, was distinctly unpleasant.

It was time to decide what my next steps should be. I was grateful that I had experience as a secretary, because a blind person didn't have many career choices. I had taught myself Braille a few years previously, so that I could communicate with any blind clients. I also knew American Sign Language, though it was less than useless now.

I sighed heavily. _Into the breech once more…_


End file.
